


Forgive Me

by emmaliza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Cock & Ball Torture, Light Angst, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Power Dynamics, S&M, Spanking, Verbal Humiliation, in which robb is a masochist and jon has a lot of feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 20:24:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10952079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: Jon attempts to punish his brother for ignoring him. That is easier said than done.





	Forgive Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the asoiaf kink meme prompt: "Robb/Jon or Robb/Theon - balls spanking. Robb's been very bad, and must be punished. Your choice if it's Jon or Theon who does it and which implement they use. They can also fuck him later. Can be both canon setting or modern AU, but somebody, please, spank those balls."

“You ignored me today.”

Robb jumps a mile as he enters his dark room and hears a voice come from the shadows, but Jon sees a faint smile cross his face as the moonlight streams through the window and he can recognise who is is. Although the look is quickly mixed with one of worry, concern. “I had to, Jon,” he says, sounding very apologetic. “The Mallisters are my grandfather's bannermen, and they would not have been pleased if I'd had my bastard brother tagging along with us. They'd have taken it as an insult to my mother.”

Jon swallows harshly. Robb's right, that's the thing. If he'd invited Jon into their ranks, it would only have made their visitors whisper and Lady Catelyn glower. “That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt,” he says, trying not to pout and failing.

A candle flickers to light up the room and Robb sighs. “I'm sorry,” he says, and he sounds genuinely apologetic. But still, there's a smile on his face as he crosses the room, hand cupping Jon's neck, leaning in close enough to kiss. “I don't suppose I could make it up to you?”

Jon does not return his smile. _I am not so desperate to be loved_ , he tells himself, although of course he is – if he wasn't he might have waited until after the night the Mallisters left to return to his brothers rooms, or at least a few more hours until he could be more certain the castle was asleep, but he thought if he had to spend another night tossing himself off in his chambers while knowing his brother was only a few halls away he'd go mad. Robb remains unphased, and tries to pull Jon into a kiss. Jon pushes him away.

“No,” he says, and Robb frowns. Jon can't quite contain a smile himself then. He supposes he ought to give the little lordling something. “Not until you earn my forgiveness.”

Robb blinks at first, confused, but then he gets that smug smile back – Jon isn't sure whether to find that alluring or irritating. “Oh?” Robb shifts his hips closer to Jon's, and he's already half-hard. “How am I meant to do that then?”

Jon growls and reaches up, seizes Robb by the hair and pulls hard, making him gasp. Robb is a good head taller than him, but it hardly seems to matter when his knees buckle and he clutches Jon's shoulders desperately to keep himself upright. Jon yanks his hair harshly, making him whine with pain and his cock harden fully against Jon's hip. “Maybe if you acted like you were _sorry_ , and not like a slutty brat.” There'll always be a flicker of guilt at the back of his mind when he calls his brother, who he loves, admires and respects, such things, but it makes Robb moan and grind his cock against Jon's skin. “But maybe you're not really sorry at all. Maybe I'll have to make you sorry.”

A gasp and then Robb is rocking himself forwards shamelessly, rutting like an animal, and it's so filthy Jon loves him for it. Not that he'll let on just yet. “Do you want to punish me?” Robb whispers.

Jon lets go of Robb's hair then, leaves him stumbling for balance. “Aye,” he says as Robb's hands dig into his skin, not quite hard enough to leave marks. Then he reaches forward and, gently, runs his hand down Robb's chest. “Only problem is, I'm not sure I can.” Robb moans as Jon's hand closes over prick, wetness seeping through his breeches, and with the other Jon reaches around to squeeze Robb's arse, that arse he flogged and fucked red and raw two weeks ago, and he's sure the marks must be gone by now but hopefully the memory is not so transient. “You're such a dirty whore, Stark. Is there anything I could do you you wouldn't like?”

Robb doesn't answer that, just stays there shuddering and gasping under Jon's touch. And so Jon shoves him away, so quickly they both flinch at the loss of heat. “Take off your clothes,” Jon tells him. “Get on the bed.”

Robb scrambles to obey so quickly he tears a button off his shirt and doesn't even notice, not that it really matters, since he's in no danger of running out – Lady Stark must sew him a new shirt every two weeks. Jon rubs a hand over his own hard prick as he watches Robb strip, and unlaces his breeches, but apart from that does not undress at all.

Jon's eyes go over to Robb's desk, and he grabs the thin, smooth stick Robb keeps there for him – so innocuous no-one would ever ask, and yet always a permanent, filthy reminder. Jon doesn't know where Robb got it, or what it's actually for – he really hopes it's not meant for their little brothers, although that would explain why Rickon grows so unruly. It's not much of a cane, really, not even a foot long, but it's the only one small enough for what Jon has planned.

When he looks back up he finds Robb completely naked, face-down on his furs, and Jon smiles to himself. Robb does so love to be fucked from behind, like a whore in a brothel, or maybe more like a bitch in heat. _Maybe if he's good._

He approaches Robb slowly, with firm footsteps, letting the heir to Winterfell shudder in anticipation as Jon comes closer towards him. With his cane, he starts to gently scratch over the skin of Robb's arse. The marks are almost all gone, except the one, a tiny purple patch at the top of his left cheek where Jon left a particularly vicious welt. Jon taps that spot with the cane teasingly. “My whore,” he says, and in truth these words still feel a little awkward on his tongue, still make him blush, but he knows how much Robb loves them. Besides, Robb can't see him right now. “You can play the lord as much as you like, but we both know at the end of the day, you're going to come crawling to me, begging for bastard cock.”

“You're the one who snuck into my room,” Robb mutters into the furs, and Jon frowns, before slapping Robb's arse with the cane and making him jump.

“You want me to spank you now,” says Jon, carrying on like Robb never spoke. He trails the cane along Robb skin harder, leaving faint red lines in his wake – Robb has his mother's skin to go with his mother's hair, pretty white and so easily bruised. He notes how Robb squirms when Jon brings the point of his cane across his hole, teases the thought of fucking him with it. _Interesting._ “You like that, don't you, when I hurt you? When I leave your arse so sore and red you can't even sit?”

Robb moans into his furs. “Yes, Jon, gods,” he hisses. “Get on with it, please, don't tease–”

“Are you ordering me?” Jon asks, and Robb freezes, realising his mistake. “No. Roll over.”

Robb does, looking up at Jon still mostly dressed with a flush of shame. “Sorry, Jon, I just – I didn't mean–”

“Shut up.” He obeys, biting his lip and Jon's prick pulses at the sight of it, the trueborn heir so willing to obey his bastard brother. _My whore._ My _whore._ “Spread your legs.”

Robb frowns in confusion, but does it. “Are you going to fuck me?” he asks. “Because, you know, if the point is to punish me–”

“ _Shut up_.” Jon strikes him then, a loud slap of the cane on his thigh that makes Robb gasp and arch off the bed, clutching at the furs. Jon sees how it makes drops of fluid drip down his red wet cock. He moves the cane up, teasing the length of Robb's prick, making him shudder again. Then he moves further up, behind his prick and to his sack, swollen and ready to release, and Jon taps the cane there tauntingly.

Robb goes still, seemingly putting it together. “Jon – what are you–?”

“Don't worry, Robb. You'll get your spanking.”

He whimpers at that, genuine fear behind his eyes. Jon notices that, and feels torn – isn't what he wanted, to push Robb's limits, figure out how much control he has? And yet, he doesn't want to actually hurt Robb. He doesn't want to scare him away.

“You asked for a punishment,” he reminds Robb, and Robb nods. Jon can see he's torn also: he wants to be good, wants to obey, but he's frightened. He thinks it'll hurt. It will hurt, but lots of things hurt, and Robb loves most of those. Jon supposes neither of them knows, and neither of them will know until they try – how much can Robb take?

“Do you trust me?” Jon asks.

Robb nods, pushing himself up on his elbows. “Always,” he says, and Jon has to smile at that. And so he leans down, and winds his free hand through Robb's hair, pulling him in for a kiss. Robb hums into his mouth, pleased, and his lips part so willingly for Jon's tongue. “I love you,” he whispers as soon as they break apart, and Jon's heart flutters.

“I know. I love you too.” He gives Robb a teasing peck on the lips, and smirks as his brother leans forward to try and deepen it, pouting when Jon pulls away. Then over his shoulder, Jon sees a red silk handkerchief on his bedside table, bright and noticeable – he thinks Sansa might have made that, but he shakes the thought away. “Here,” he says, stretching over Robb to grab it, and place it next to Robb's shoulder. “If you need me to stop, you can grab that, okay?” he says. “Now: are you going to let me punish you?”

Robb bites his lip, but he nods, and Jon grins. “Good boy,” he says, before kissing him again. There is something about this, about being the one to dole out praise rather than the one clamouring for any scrap of it – and he thinks Robb feels something similar. Of course, Robb Stark earns no lack of praise, but being praised for _this_ , for being helpless and needy and dirty and everything the Lord of Winterfell cannot be...

Jon stands back up, tightening his hand around the cane. “Spread your legs wider.” Robb does, knees pushing up off the mattress. “Wider.” Robb huffs and pulls legs apart with his hands, an arm wrapped under each thigh to spread himself wide, displaying his hard cock and swollen balls to Jon, and the cane. Jon smirks. Robb might like taking it from behind but Jon loves him like this, on his back, exposed, humiliated, offering himself to Jon to do whatever he likes with him.

He places the cane back against Robb's thigh, teasing his way up, delighting in Robb's panicked whimpers now. “H-how many?” Robb asks.

Jon frowns. It's a good question. They've not done this before, and Jon doesn't want to push too far. He doesn't want to actually stop Robb from ever siring an heir ( _although if he couldn't he might not have to wed,_ he thinks for a second, but that impulse is stupid, selfish and dangerous, so he shuts it down). However, he knows Robb's a glutton for punishment, and he doesn't want to leave him unsatisfied. It's a matter of balance, he supposes. Ten seems too many, but five seems too few.

“Seven,” he says, and Robb frowns.

“That's... specific.”

Jon smacks his thigh again, making Robb gasp, leaving a red mark. “Don't question me,” he growls, and Robb drops his head, ashamed.

“Sorry,” he mutters, and then pulls his legs further apart, like making a peace offering. How is Jon meant to stay mad at that?

“There's a good boy, keep your legs spread. And count.”

Robb isn't looking and so Jon takes advantage to make the first strike, hard, making Robb wail in pain and shock as the thin wood meets his sensitive flesh. Jon's prick jumps at the sound he makes, so needy, so vulnerable, and Robb's own prick was spared the worst of it, lying hard and red on his belly, looking undiscouraged by the pain, but his left ball now looks even more purple and swollen than the right. The asymmetry of that is mildly annoying, and so Jon quickly applies the second strike, even harsher than before. “Two!” Robb gasps out, remind Jon he forgot to count the first one. Jon should probably reprimand him for that, but it feels a bit late now.

Jon changes angle for the third strike, coming up from behind and hitting both his balls at once, making him _scream_. “Shh, Robb,” Jon says, suddenly alerted to the thought of being overheard. _I should have waited. Or gagged him._ But it's too late now.

“Three,” Robb says, voice raw and pained, and he sniffs. “Sorry. But I can only–”

Jon hits him again, cutting him off, making Robb jump and a drop of precome fly so far it jumps over the cane and lands on Jon's hand. Still, he bites his tongue to swallow the scream. Jon curses as he looks down at it, and over to Robb's purpling, bruised balls, and his cock looking only harder from this abuse. _He likes it, seven hells._ “Four,” Robb sobs, and when Jon looks up at his face he can see there are tears on it.

If Robb likes it, Jon can be worse. He strikes Robb twice in a second, and Robb wails and digs his nails into his thigh before he spills, seed shooting out of his cock in a high arch and splattering across his chest. _He didn't just like it, he came from it._ That _made him come. Is he mad?_ “Five... six,” Robb whispers, collapsing into the furs exhausted, and yet still keeping his legs splayed open for Jon. _One more to go._

“You got off on that,” Jon whispers, stunned, and Robb, bleary-eyed, looks up at him, before down at his own come all over him.

“I suppose I did,” he murmurs, and Jon taps the cane against his thigh.

“I said seven, Stark,” he says, and Robb looks him in the eye again, fear returning. “Can you take it?”

Robb hesitates a moment, chewing his lip, and Jon knows how sensitive he'll be and he wouldn't at all be surprised if he said no, but again, Robb nods. _I can't ever punish him_ , Jon thinks. _He'll like everything I ever do to him._ And so Jon puts all his strength into one last blow, one that makes Robb scream in pain, his cock wilting and the base of it getting struck also, and Robb bursts out sobbing again. “Jon, Jon.”

“It's alright Robb, it's alright,” Jon says, throwing the cane aside, scrambling onto the bed by his brother's side, pulling him close to press kisses all over his face. “It's over now Robb, don't worry. You did so well.”

Robb groans and hooks one arm around Jon's neck, pushing their mouths together, and with the other he reaches down Jon's breaches and takes ahold of his cock, making Jon hiss, and he'll have to try and hold back because he's _so_ hard, and he's not ready for this to be over. “I love you,” Robb whispers against his mouth before pushing him onto his back.

“I know. I love you too.” And really, who cares if he can't punish Robb? Punishing Robb was only ever a means to an end. All he wants is for Robb to love him, and he does, Jon knows it. It's not fair the way the way they have to live, the bastard never considered good enough for the trueborn's affections, but it's not Robb's fault – and as much as it might hurt to have Robb ever snub him, here and now, how could he ever doubt that Robb loves him?

“So do you forgive me?” Robb asks, and Jon shakes his head.

Robb frowns at that, but before he goes crawling down the bed to take Jon's cock in his mouth, Jon smiles at him. “There's nothing to forgive.”


End file.
